"I wonder they have not joined us before," replied Bernard de Rohan. "We should have fared ill if their assistance had been all we had to trust to."
"They could not do better," replied the brigand. "The other party had caught a sight of us when you stood to argue with me at the corner of the rock, and they broke down the little wooden bridge behind them. Your servants know none of the paths; the priest knows not that which we took; so doubtless, by this time, they think that we are hewed into mincemeat. However, remember at that spot, by the broken bridge, a loud halloo, a blast of your horn, or a whistle thrice repeated, will at any time bring some one to you who can lead you to me should you want my assistance. Now, jolly priest, now," he added, raising his voice, "here we are safe, though no great thanks to you."
"If you are safe, and sound, and sober," said the priest, coming up with the attendants of Bernard de Rohan, "it is more than I expected; for we could not reach you for our lives; and as we were scrambling over the hills, and each losing his way according to his fancy, we heard as much noise as at a boor's wedding, though the concert was somewhat different. But now let us hasten back as fast as possible: why, we are a league and a half from the inn, and I shall be so hoarse with shouting and the night air that I shall not be able to sing matins."
CHAPTER V.
The Count de Meyrand was awake early, and dressed with the most scrupulous exactness of appearance, without a riband tumbled or a point out of place. He descended slowly about seven of the clock from the chamber in which he had passed the night, by the long black double-railed staircase, that led at once from the rooms above into the kitchen, which, as I have said before, served also as the saloon of the inn. His air and his countenance bore the same appearance of indifference which they usually displayed, and he made no inquiry whatsoever regarding the events of the preceding evening, although he had retired to rest more than an hour before Bernard de Rohan had returned to the inn. His servants came and went, seeking directions concerning this thing and that, and communicating with him, from time to time, in a low tone. The aubergiste, with many a lowly reverence, asked his distinguished guest manifold questions concerning his breakfast; but still the Count de Meyrand was not heard to ask any questions either regarding the fate of his friend, or the somewhat remarkable events which had lately taken place.
At length, however, the jovial priest made his appearance; and whether it was that the count was in a better humour for raillery than on the night before, or whether he remarked, by the keen twinkling of the other's eye, that he was about to commence an attack upon him, which would not easily cease, he chose to be the first to open the encounter, saying, "Well, good father, though I know it is not an easy thing to cool a priest's courage, yet I trust your last night's expedition has rather diminished your chivalrous ardour."
"Not a whit," replied the priest. "Everything depends upon how much a man's courage wants cooling. Yours, noble count, seems not of a quality very likely to boil over; and, doubtless, ten steps from the door of the inn would have sent you home shivering. Mine carried me, however, a little farther."
"Ay, doubtless," interrupted the count, "up to the point where you met with these rogues; and then you waited behind a great stone to see who had the best of the fray. Is it not so? I see you have brought home no desperate wounds with you."
"None," replied the priest, "that I cannot bear as tranquilly and well as you, my noble lord, could bear the sorrow of your best friend. My trade, however, is not bloodshed; I love not hard blows, and shall always keep out of their way as far as I can. So my confession is made; but here comes one who has a greater liking for wounds and bruises than I have; and now Heaven send us all as good food as I have a good stomach. Mine host! mine host! that omelet will be overdone, and the sin of burned eggs is one to which I refuse absolution. By Hercules! as the Romans used to say—Body of Bacchus! as the Italians say—Dame! as we say in France, did ever mortal man see such a basket of fine trouts? Why, it is a gift for an abbot! Look! my noble baron, look!" he continued, turning to Bernhard de Rohan, who now made his appearance; "did you ever see such fair river-gods in your life? Put them upon the ashes, host, put them upon the ashes!"